As I turned the yellowing page it rustled between my fingers. He stirred gently, his arm curling closer to my back. One of my hands held the small diary; the other stroked his cheek absent-mindedly. His skin was that of a man who had not slept well for a long time, but it felt smooth beneath my palm.

Richard and I have discovered that the on-call room was not made for sleeping…

I could never hand this book back to Meredith without laughter and guilt. She would despise it. I paused to rest my eyes, and I listened to his breathing. It pulled in, smoothly and deeply, and escaped like a wave hitting the shore. The soft hiss of air lulled me into sleepy haze. I could feel the pulse in my thumb as it pressed against the hard edge of his jaw.

I started. My head had rolled to one side and the diary was lying across his back. I picked it up, and laid it on the bed next to me. I looked down at him. He was curled against me like a child, his face peaceful. Not for the first time, I wondered what had triggered his reaction. I had never seen him afraid. Sad, tired, fragile, yes. But never afraid. It generated a strange need to protect him. I wrapped my arms around him shield him from things I did not know, and with them I was guarding both of us. He groaned and moved again, and only then did I realise I had been gripping him with my fingers, terrified of letting go.

I had woken him, and he was attempting to lift himself up on his hands. I pushed him gently down again.

‘Cristina,’ he mumbled.
‘Shh,’ I replied. He suddenly clasped my hand where it lay on his shoulder. I closed my fingers around his and ran my thumb back and forth. I did not want him to wake yet; watching him sleep gave a serene quality to my thoughts. He slipped his legs beneath my raised knees, and we lay there, entwined once more. His head was now cradled between my collarbone and my neck, and I rested my cheek against his.
‘She’s here.’ He paused. ‘I don’t want to see her.’ I pulled him even closer.
‘You don’t have to. You can stay here with me.’

He sighed. ‘I can’t leave her. It’s wrong.’

I paused, wondering if I should ask. If you don’t ask, you won’t know. ‘Who is she?’

He turned his head into my neck, and I understood. Sometimes, even if you do ask, you still won’t get an answer.